


Never broken — never whole

by BabySea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark Dean Winchester, F/M, Hotel California shit, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Meh, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 17:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18428537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabySea/pseuds/BabySea
Summary: Inspired by Hotel California — Eagles.Dark Dean, the love of his life, little to no will to leave...





	Never broken — never whole

Dark highway, shimmering lights, the bike roaring peacefully. 

Her hair is messy again, she can barely see through this awful shock. How come she always forgets her hairpins on the nightstands in these creepy motels? 

Thoughts, memories — they wash over all at once. 

When did it all get so tangled? 

Why the hell isn’t she afraid of racing on a motorcycle through the darkness without helmets? And why is a gun under the belt of her well-worn jeans a commonness? Her peaceful, boring life turned wild, wilder than any of her crazy dreams, and she haven’t even realized it. 

It’s foolish to split life into “before” and “after”. It’s, in fact, absurd. Nearly as absurd, as highlighting to-do lists with different colors in a journal, drenched in blood. But there was a “before”, she’s one-hundred-percent sure. It was before him. 

One day Dean was only a stranger strolling by, and she was just a helpless girl, jammed in a dark corner by several unscrupulous characters. And there he was — her knight in shining armor. A killer? She didn’t care at that time. Who did? They say, love is cruel, and they are damn right. 

Ruin her life, throw everything away and go halfway around the world with a guy she just met... Why not? She was deadly romantic. He was (perhaps), too. 

Learn how to shoot and to fight, hit the ground hard again and again, beat her knuckles up raw. He just wants me to feel safe, to be able to protect myself. Stand guard in the street while he casually beats the life out of another maniac/freak/bastard. Well, someone has to do the dirty work, someone has to deal with them, right? Fall into traps together, fight together, survive together, hide bodies together.

Why, what can be more romantic than that... 

She can remember her childish dreams from the times so far gone: “I wanna have a boyfriend, who’ll make me laugh, carry me in his arms and dance with me.” And it was literally all fulfilled. Not the way she’d dreamt of, of course, but fate is not exactly the complains-accepting type. 

He was constantly joking vulgarly, grossly, and she kept laughing, ‘cause it was the only way not to burst into tears hysterically. And he did carry her in his arms. Usually, when she blacked out after being shot repeatedly, or when a bone was sticking out of her leg at a terrifying angle, but still. 

And they danced, they really did. Those evenings, when it all was too much, when they both could not handle it any more, they danced. Dean just grabbed her hand, clasped her in his arms, and led their desperate moves. They went on, stumbling over the empty bottles on the floor, too drunk to care. 

She danced, because she wanted to remember. Remember, that once was an ordinary girl with normal life. That was fooling around with some nice guys and laughing crystal clear and not caring at all only yesterday (sorry, just an illusion, baby). 

He danced, because he wanted to forget. Forget, that had no one left in the entire world, except this pesky girl. Forget, that he quit recognizing the man staring back from the mirror a long time ago. That he became a monster he used to hunt. 

And then the alcohol let out. The bruises over the wrists and fingernail traces were the only reminders of these moments of weakness. 

From place to place, day after day, nightmare after nightmare. 

There she is, trying to wash away the blood stains off a hoodie again. Or pulling a knife out of Dean’s leg again. Yeah, she’ll definitely be able to practice medicine in a little while. 

And here is Dean, beaten someone to death again. Looks like it was still just a boy. But she doesn’t ask “Why?” anymore. Dean knows better. He always does. She’s sick and tired of asking. And tired of burying bodies...

“He’s a monster. How dare you put up with that? Run, run!” — she keeps chanting deliriously. Is blindly searching for a passage back to normal, a passage that does not even exist. Then gives up. ‘Cause there actually is a way. She just doesn’t want to find it. But this is a painful truth, and she doesn’t need any more pain in her life. So, a beautiful, romantic lie will do. 

— I’m leaving, you hear me! — a wretched, pathetic cry, a call for help. Begging for feelings for the hundredth time. 

And only a dark smirk in response. 

— No, you’re not. — confident, insolent voice. He knows better — better than she does. For the hundredth time. 

Heaven or hell? The same question over and over again. She throws a glass against the wall, but the only thing shattered is still her soul. Then hell it is, indeed. Her, personal, Hell. 

He’s a demon. Literally and metaphorically. She’s, apparently, pretty much the same. 

‘Cause it’s no big deal anymore — to pull the trigger, looking your victim in the eye. ‘Cause he’s standing behind her, gently (it’s insane, isn’t it?) hugging her from the back, “C’mon, you can do this, babe...”

One. Single. Shot. 

And that’s it. She’s everything but herself anymore. Her “before” life is just a black-n-white silent movie in the background. A movie no one watches today. 

You can wash away the blood from your hands, you can’t wash away the blood from your soul...

But she does not care. 

Even they deserve to be happy. Their own, twisted, sick happy. 

The funny thing is, she still thinks, she can quit any time...  
Silly girl, don’t you understand, you can never leave


End file.
